


Art of War

by daydreamsonacloudyday



Series: Isabel Cousland [31]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Dragon Age AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsonacloudyday/pseuds/daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War with Orlais costs Isabel everything. (AU for after the Blight)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art of War

She knew war with Orlais was inevitable. The Blight had greatly weakened Ferelden, and it was ripe for the picking. Orlais had every intention of reclaiming its lost province, legions of its chevaliers marching towards the border.

As soon as they had heard there was to be a war, the palace erupted into a frenzy. The armies were rallied, and as king, Alistair was expected to lead them. Despite protests from their advisors, Isabel had every intention of being by his side. They would fight this war together, just as they had the Blight.

…

She remembered the stories her father told her and Fergus as children about what war was like, but the stories weren’t anything like the reality. In the stories, they may have lost some battles, but in the end they won the war. In reality, there was a very good chance they could lose more than just some battles. They could lose the war, lose Ferelden… and lose their heads right along with their country. 

They fought for themselves, for each other, and for their people, but just because they were the king and queen, they weren’t invulnerable like in the fairytales. They were very much mortal, and they were reminded of that when Isabel was gravely injured in battle.

It wasn’t her first near-death experience; there had been plenty for both her and Alistair during the Blight. One would think they would be used to death looming over their heads, but there was something about seeing the person you loved in danger that evoked the same helpless, frightful, and panicked reaction from them every time. And this time was no different.

Once Alistair was assured that she would survive her injuries, he insisted she return to Denerim, where it was safe. Their advisors had been pestering them constantly about having her return to the capitol, in case something should happen to him…  _someone_ needed to be left to rule the country. Her near-death experience made him agree with their advice, and he pleaded with her to return home.

He said he was scared of losing her, especially since she was already injured, and she could see his fear etched into every line of his face. She knew it would be safer, and she had no intention of dying, but what about him? She was supposed to leave him, just like that? What if something happened to  _him_? Isabel knew his personal guards were capable enough, but they weren’t  _her_. 

She didn’t want to leave, but she agreed, for his sake, and  _for the good of Ferelden_. After an emotional and reluctant goodbye, she was shipped back to Denerim, to heal and await the outcome of the war. _  
_

…

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the war still raged on. Isabel was a nervous wreck, constantly waiting for updates from the battlefield informing her of her husband’s safety. She had never been apart from him for so long under such circumstances, and it was driving her _mad._

Damn the war, damn the Crown, damn it all! She just wanted to run away with him where they could be safe and happy. Alistair would never do such a thing, for he was too honorable and would always do his duty to his country. As should she… after all, it was  _f_ _or the good of Ferelden_.

She threw herself into her role as queen, and kept things in the capitol running for when the war would end and her king would finally return home. It distracted her from her almost frantic, constant state of worrying, but there was still always a small amount of unease settled in the back of her mind. She got used to the days away from her husband, but she still longed for the day he returned home.

…

Isabel knew something had happened when Fergus arrived at the palace. She went to greet him excitedly, because if he had returned to Denerim, the war must have been over, and Alistair would be returning soon as well. One look at the dejected expression on her brother’s face had her stopping in her tracks, swallowing hard. Something was wrong.

When he reached her, he grabbed her arms, to steady her or himself, she wasn’t sure, and looked into her eyes, slowly shaking his head. She pulled back from him, her breaths coming faster, dread creeping up her spine.

"Isabel," Fergus started, clearly anxious. "I’m sorry… Alistair… he…"

"No," she said, almost shouting. She shook her head, her throat tightening and her chest constricting. This couldn’t be happening, it _couldn’t_ —

"He’s dead." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, her world crumbled down around her. She couldn’t breathe, she was going to throw up, she could barely remain standing… Overcome with grief, she collapsed against her brother, and he held her against his chest as she sobbed and wailed, unable to process anything.

He couldn’t be dead! Not after all they had been through together! They had made it through so much, the Blight, ruling Ferelden… this couldn’t be it…

Isabel had cheated death so many times, and now it had taken her husband, the man she loved with the entirety of her being. The man she would never see again. She would sleep alone the rest of her life, never to wake up to a warm, comforting embrace again. Never again would he  brush her hair, tenderly working the brush through her unruly waves, peppering her shoulders and neck with little kisses when he was done. Never again could she joke with him, tease him and make him blush until his ears were red. Never again would she hear him tell her he loved her, and she could never say it back.

 _Alistair was dead_. Her Alistair was dead. He was  _gone_.

…

Isabel was numb. She could barely make it through the day without help because she was so paralyzed. She heard the whispers through the palace, that the queen had lost her mind, that she’d had a mental break, and she didn’t care. She didn’t  _care_.

She was back to when her family was slaughtered, shuffling along with no purpose, too dead to the world to do much of anything else. Back then, Alistair had given her a purpose. He helped her through her pain and she through his, and together they stopped the Blight. But he wasn’t here now… he was dead.

She wondered if this is what Anora felt like after Cailan had died in battle. In reality it didn’t matter, because Anora kept doing her duties as queen, while Isabel only sat in mourning. She should have let Anora keep the throne, then she could have dealt with the war, and her and Alistair could have been off somewhere together, happy and alive.

But, no… Isabel had to go and put Alistair on the throne to prevent Anora from executing him, as if she couldn’t convince her to let him live. She’d made so many decisions, during the Blight and afterwards, that were solely to keep him safe, no matter the cost. She’d always believed her choices were  _for the good of Ferelden_. The one time she acted  _for the good of Ferelden_ and left her husband on the battlefield, he’d ended up dead.

It was ironic, really. She’d done this to herself. She’d put him on the throne to save his life, and in the end, that’s what got him killed.  _For the good of Ferelden_.

Ferelden could burn for all she cared. The Orlesians were going to win the war, anyway, and when they came they’d kill her, like they killed her king. Maybe then she would finally be with him again.


End file.
